Editor-in-Chief:
  Yidan Han

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  Kyle David Anderson


于坚
Yu Jian

于坚,云南师范大学文学院教授。1954年生于云南,20岁开始写作。著有诗集、文集20余种、摄影集一种,记录片四部。曾获台湾《联合报》14届新诗奖、台湾《创世纪》诗杂志四十年诗歌奖、“华语文学传媒大奖”年度诗人奖、鲁迅文学奖、朱自清散文奖、百花散文奖、德语版诗选集《零档案》获德国亚非拉文学作品推广协会主办的“感受世界”亚非拉优秀文学作品评选第一名、美国国家地理杂志全球摄影大赛华夏典藏金框奖。纪录片《碧色车站》入围阿姆斯特国际纪录片银狼奖单元(2004)。英语版诗集《便条集》入围美国BTBA最佳图书翻译奖(2011)。法语版长诗《小镇》入围2016年五月揭晓的法国“发现者”诗歌奖。

Yu Jian was born Born in 1954 in Yunnan Province. At the age of twenty, Yu Jian began writing his first poems in free verse. He has published over twenty books of poetry and prose and a collection of travel sketches. He has received many poetry prizes in China and other countries. He is a professor of Yunnan University.



译者
Translator


谢炯
Joan Xie

谢炯, 诗名炯, 出生在上海。八十年代就读于上海交通大学管理系,1988年留学美国,取得企业管理硕士和法律博士学位。出版诗集《半世纪的旅途》(2015),散文集《蓦然回首》(2016),中文诗集《幸福是,突然找回这样一些东西》(2018),英文翻译诗集《十三片叶子》(2018)。2017年荣获首届德清莫干山国际诗歌节银奖。中文诗作发表在国内《诗刊》《扬子江诗刊》等文学诗刊。英文诗作和翻译作品发表在美国《诗天空》《唇》,《文学交流》等文学诗刊。

Joan Xie was born in Shanghai where she attended Shanghai Jiaotong University. She came to the United States in 1988 to study business and law. Xie's Chinese poetry and essay collections include Half-Century Journey (2015), Looking Back (2016), Nothing Made Me Happier than Finding These Objects (2018) and she is the editor of Thirteen Leaves (2018). In 2017, she received a Silver award at First Moganshan International Poetry Festival in China. Her poems in Chinese appeared in well-known poetry magazines in China, such as Poetry Journal and The Yangtze River Poetry Journal. Her translations appeared in Exchanges Literature Journal, LIPS and Poetry Sky.

树的电视剧

TV Series About a Tree

那棵树本不该在这儿 他们强迫它来 比运送犹太人去奥斯维辛要顺利 它乖乖地躺在卡车兜里 根系像出院的疯子那样干翘着 沾着南方的红泥巴 在一个黎明被押下卡车 埋在挖好的坑里 他们浇着水 姿势正确 就像伟大的太阳 提着塑料桶 将圆形的底部翻转 抖干净水珠 它的故乡更南 日不落 此地会下雪 冬天是一个漫长的刑期 可它活下来了 有几年 在昆明市的街心 开着红色的花 在夏天的黑暗中 一首一首唱热带之歌 有些鸟喜欢这个丰满的姑娘 喜欢它的大方 一直在考察是不是该筑个新巢 世事难料 终于被寒流冻死 同归于尽的还有几个流浪汉 他们再次回来 像当初执行时那样认真 穿着黑色橡胶鞋 戴着白手套 锯呀 砍呀 刨呵 运走了那些枯枝 他们执行园林局的命令 街心繁荣 街心荒凉 街心繁荣 街心荒凉 爸爸 我们应该永远关着窗子 别再看下一幕

 

The tree shouldn't be here. They forced her to come that was easier than transporting Jews to Auschwitz. Lying obediently in the truck, covered with red mud from south, her roots tilted like a madman discharged from an asylum. Taken by a truck at dawn, now she is buried in a pit already dug. They poured water on her by the book, holding a plastic bucket like a great sun, flipped the round bottom upside down to shake off the water. Her hometown down south was always sunny, but this place had snow. Winter was a long prison sentence, but she survived. For a few years, in the center of Kunming, she bloomed the red flowers. She even sang a tropical song, one after another, in the darkness of summer. Some birds liked this plump girl and her generosity, and considered to build new nests in her. But fate caught her. She finally died in a cold spell. Died with her, a few homeless wanderers. They came back again, as seriously as they'd planted her, Wearing black rubber shoes and white gloves, they saw and chopped, Plowed away those dead branches, on an order from the Bureau of Parks. Street prosperity. Street desolation. Street prosperity. Street desolation. Daddy, we should always shut off the window and never view the next scene.

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